All horses deserve, at least once in their lives, to be loved by a
little girl.
Loved by this little girl for four years
After years of roping, and
gymkhana, with various owners before me, Willow's body could no longer keep
up with his heart and mind. The day I knew it was time for him to leave me
was on a sunny Thursday morning. I went to feed him at my boarding stable.
He was laying down, not a completely unusual act, but it had become more
and more frequent. He didn't get up after I dumped his grain, so I walked
over to him and petted his big chestnut head. I could tell he was hurting,
but I knew he had to get up and eat. He lifted his big beautiful muzzle and
began to rise. After a lot of heavy breathing, he got his front legs in front
of him and began to hoist his 16 hand frame up. After a few seconds of sitting
on his hindquarters his front legs buckled and he fell onto the dirt. Another
try and the same result. He lay all the way back down, his liquid eyes closing
for a moment, just so he could catch his breath. He looked up at me and seemed
to say, "Mom, I can't do this anymore, I'm tired". My decision was made in
a moment. One more try and he got to his feet and limped to his feed. I slowly
walked to the gate and he began an attempt to race away. He loped two or
three steps and then began a slow limping walk. As he hobbled away, my heart
broke right there in my chest. My wonderful gelding, who loved to race anything
that would challenge him, could hardly trot without pain. The next day I
called the vet and made the appointment. I talked to my boss at the ranch
I work at and the plans were made. My beloved Willow would be humanly euthanized
and buried in a field in the Greenhorn Mountains on the coming
Wednesday.
The next few days were spent
remembering my boy. He was my first horse and had taught me everything. His
personality was like that of an old gentleman. Every foal he encountered
would send him into a series of joyous neighs and whinnies. When loping through
an open field, he would dodge every pile of manure that he saw, just to ensure
he didn't get his little "mule" feet icky. Although in his early twenties,
when most horses were beginning to look and act their age, Willow was still
spooky and shied at everything that wasn't "there yesterday". Many people
would ask how old he was, and be completely shocked when I revealed he was
born in '81. He was completely aware of the riding levels of my friends and
family that would hop on. One time after a gymkhana, I put a 1 1/2 year old
little girl on his back and led her around. Every step was taken with extreme
care, to ensure that she would not lose her balance. Then, no more than 15
minutes later, an old cowboy asked if he could test him out. Up the man went
and Willow was off. He raced the full length of the arena before the cowpoke
got him stopped! The difference in his attitude amazed everyone who was watching.
At other times I would ask him to do something that didn't seem too logical
and he would turn his head and look at me, seemingly asking, "Are you sure
we should do this, mom?" He lived to play in water, no matter if it was a
stream, a river, or a horse trough and delighted in splashing and soaking
everyone and everything that happened to be around him. Racing the wind was
what I believe kept him young and since my boarding stable has a 5/8ths of
a mile racetrack, he was allowed from time to time to take off at full
speed.
Although I only had him for
his last 4 years of life, he was my best friend and constant companion. I
got him when I was 12, the beginning of the normally terrible teenage years.
I was shy and uncomfortable talking to people. That all changed on a beautiful
May day when Willow was unloaded out of the trailer. I had wanted a horse
since I was 6 years old, and spent 6 years of my life begging for one of
my own. Although Willow was underweight and not too pretty when I got him,
he filled out and became the horse of my dreams. We showed in 4-H for 3 years
and won lots of blue, red, and yellow ribbons and even more white, brown,
pink and purple. We showed at the Colorado State Fair once (getting 9th in
Trail and 10th in Horsemanship) and traveled miles and miles on high country
trails. Even though all that showing was fun, my favorite memories always
include an open field and a warm breeze. If I felt like riding and he wasn't
stiff and sore, we would head off to some unknown destination, just enjoying
each other and God's creations around us. If he limped a little when I led
him out of his pasture, I would loop the lead rope and hop on bareback. The
rest of the day would be spent with me reading or sleeping on his back while
he munched on high country grass.
Wednesday morning dawned
bright and beautiful, although my heart was heavy with sadness. For the last
time, I caught Willow out of his pasture and loaded him into his horse trailer.
For the last time, I brushed his sleek racehorse body and for the last time,
he grazed on lush mountain grass. I had brought his companion and show
replacement, Lilly, up with him to keep him company. They grazed the morning
away, her galloping around him, both just happy to be horses. At 2:00 the
vet rumbled through the pasture and met me at the burial site. He advised
me that Willow may not pass quietly because there was no way to tell how
the drug would affect his body. Again and again he recommended I just say
my good-byes and leave, but I had promised Willow that he would die with
me holding his head in my hands, and that was not a promise to be broken.
After the drug was administered, Willow lay down like the good boy he was,
almost as if he knew that it would be easier for me to see him go peacefully.
I went to his big beautiful head and held it until the vet said he was no
longer with us. It comforts me knowing he died surrounded by the people that
loved him, in a field of tall mountain grass, on a glorious summer afternoon.
Willow was buried with a red, white, and blue blanket, the first one I ever
rode him with; a bucket of rolled oats and peppermint treats, his favorite
foods besides grass; and a bouquet of flowers that included one pink lily.
He still had grass in his mouth and his coat looked like that of a racehorse
preparing for his last race. His grave oversees a field and a small hill,
a hill with a lone Juniper tree, standing a little crooked but strong against
the rain and snow. Willow was that tree, a solid post for a little girl to
lean on, never faltering.
It has been 5 months since
he passed on and my heart still feels empty. Lilly has created her own spot,
but Willow can never be replaced. Some nights I fall asleep holding his lead
rope in my hand, imagining my big gelding is still on the other end. At a
Michael Martin Murphy concert I recently attended, Murphy began talking about
his first horse and how it didn't matter the breeding or size or looks of
his horse. It was that undeniable spirit that would never leave his heart.
Before I knew it, me, the person who would rather have a root canal than
cry in public, was bawling like a little baby as Murphy dedicated his next
song to his first horse.
The Bible says that what you loved on Earth will be in Heaven,
so I know my Willow boy will be there to greet me at the golden gates. He
will no longer be in any pain and the freedom of his youth will forever be
his. I pray that he will know that he will always be, my first
love.
"Some horses come into our
lives and quickly leave...others stay awhile, make hoof prints on our hearts
and we are never, ever the same." (author unknown)
Willow, your hoof prints
will forever be in my heart...I will love you forever and always...see you
again when I come home.
Angela Joy
Dandy Willow 
